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Etcher Marlowe
Iron Whisper “I’ll see you boys in a week now. You listen to Uncle George, he knows best”. The visage of his father loomed over him and cast both him and his brother in shadow from the bright sun outside. “I’ll see you when I see you George. I have a feeling that this’ll be the last time I go on one of these things.” “Last throes, I know Chris. I’ll take good care of the boys, you come back now, stay safe in that big comfy chair in orbit now” George prodded his arm. Chris chuckled. “I’ll try not to drink too much while I’m at it. Goodbye boys, I love you” He said turning away. The wheat seemed to wave in tandem with him as he got into his transport and lifted off. The hum died away and Etcher and Ferral were left starring at the sky. George put his arms around them and corralled them back into the house slowly. “Come on kids, dinner at six, play nice ‘til then”. “This’ll be the best” Ferral commented. “We can do whatever we want for a whole week”. “I miss Dad” Etcher said. “You would”. “Off you go”. They went out back to the massive field where a tire swing hung from a tree. The wheat seemed to stretch in every direction, rolling hills soaked up the evening sun, low in the clouds. The whole field moved in the warm breeze. Greasy white paint peeled on the side of the house, exposing the bleached wood underneath. The windows had the slight distortion of old glass, and the fog of being dirty around the edges. Save for the boys themselves, it was all synthetic. Molecular bonds of various polymers stitched together to recreate some kind of fleeting memory of Old America, a portrait that one lived and raised children in instead of hanging on the wall. Their father’s appreciation for the simple things was lost on them; the extravagance of creating 50 some acres of artificial landscape was nothing compared to what some of his colleagues had. Chris wanted the boys to grow up how he had always read about in those old books about America. Their ancestry was American, which he took tremendous pride in, and he was fortunate enough to have the money to turn a portion of a barren planetoid into a convincing picture of what once was. The farm house was massive, but the attached work shop dwarfed it entirely. There was one section of torn wheat from the Aegis tests that consistently ripped it apart until there was just dull gray ground. There were some 8 odd bodies in there, only three looking very complete, the rest just torsos, arms, and legs, suspended by massive pieces of cable and steel polymer. They climbed the tree and jumped off, landing softly in the wheat. They lay there for a long time, until again summoned by George. Dinner was their favorite, cooked to perfection, but of course this wasn’t made note of or appreciated. After their meal George tucked them in and went to watch television. Ferral was wide awake, and starred intently at Etcher. He opened his eyes, a little taken aback. “What?” “We should sneak out to the workshop” Ferral whispered. “Dad said we shouldn’t” He tried hiding the smile that was dawning on his face from the idea. “Dad’s not here and George is downstairs. Don’t you want to see what’s in there? Grab your eMate.” Etcher grabbed a small metal and plastic device on the bed stand and they climbed out of bed and he and his brother cracked open the door. They saw the light from the TV dance on George’s face. Apparently dissatisfied with whatever was on, he got up and went to the kitchen, and the boys made their move. They trotted down the hallway (stopped briefly at the intentionally squeaky floorboard) and eventually made it to a fairly out of place looking metal door. There was a console on the side. Etcher’s eMate lit up and holographic white circles now filled the air, dimming after sensing the lack of ambient light. Etcher tapped some in the air, summoning more. “Here.” He touched the last circle and his father’s voice, crystal clear, sounded from his palm. “Cynthia’s an ice cold bitch” it said. The boys looked at each other wide eyed and covered their mouths, laughing. “Access granted, welcome Chris” said the door. It opened seamlessly, and they were accosted by the sudden breeze from the slight pressure change. The massive work shop echoed before them. Lights turned on and screens glittered, illuminating the forms. Two were particularly complete, and stood seemingly at attention in the corner. One was HellBob, Etcher’s aegis that he built with his father and learned to pilot. Chris wanted Etcher to follow in his footsteps, and nurtured the boy’s fascination with aegises from a very young age. Ferral didn’t share his enthusiasm, he preferred the genetic work of their mother. The second form was Iron Whisper, their third brother, the other half of their father’s attention. The MAXTech emblem boldly emblazoned on his shoulder. He greeted them silently, not sharing in their excitement. The boys had decided that the real test of skill would be to pilot Iron Whisper. “You do it.” Said Etcher. “Me? Pilot it? No way, I’m on watch. I’m the strongest. You have to pilot it, Dad showed you how to do it” Etcher looked at the massive frame, 15 feet high. “Fine, help me up”. Etcher climbed up the ladder until he was level with the giant’s chest. He touched a corner of it and it opened up gracefully, like a flower blooming. The seat was huge when he climbed in. panels started to glitter. His eMate vibrated and sang, and he pulled it out of his pocket and saw a live feed of Ferral standing there. He put it in his lap. “This is so I can direct you, like mission control.” “Good idea.” “So you know what to do?” Ferral asked. “Yes. Um” Etcher took time to consider what he was doing, disguising anxiety as if he was unsure how to proceed. He touched panels and stretched his legs into the pedals below. His feet touched the top strap but not the bottom. The two sticks at his left and right dwarfed his hands, but he managed to get a grip on them. The cockpit closed around him and he could see Ferral’s face glint with anxiety. He smiled. Now he heard the familiar hums and rhythms of the Aegis’s start up sequence. The cockpit smelled faintly of his father. He pulled the sticks and adjusted the pedals and it lurched forward. It was on AutoStride, and headed for the door, which pulled apart. Etcher strode outside into the night. The night vision illuminated the ground. “See uh...easy” He said glancing back and forth between the panels and Ferral. “Whatever, do something cool, like the thruster” “I don’t know how!” “Bullshit, dad showed you how. Don’t be such a bitch Etcher”, Ferral spat back at him. Etcher considered the offer and he pulled on one of the sticks, bringing Iron Whisper out of AutoStride. It wobbled, almost falling over at Etcher’s attempts to wrangle the giant sticks from side to side. He finally got some semblance of walking, and flipped opened the cap on the top of the right stick. “Come on!” Ferral yelled. Etcher closed his eyes and hit the switch, and yanked back the controls. G force pinned him against his seat from the sudden change of speed. He rocketed forward in the night, the wheat now going significantly faster than it was before. Ferral’s yells of triumph were drowned by the engine and Etcher’s nerves. His left foot slipped out of the pedal, and the Aegis banked sharply. His weight was now on the left pedal and right stick, and since he was so small in the cockpit, with the change in gravity, he was almost hanging on only to the right stick, like a monkey bar. “Shit!” He yelled. The tree with the tire swing became visible on the monitor, in the next instance it was obliterated into a thousand shards of SythWood. Etcher screamed, and in the next instance he felt gravity overturn. Iron Whisper was now face down in a ditch. Warning lights screamed and the failsafe turned on, shutting down the system. The engine sound died out, and only a few lights remained on in the cockpit, and a slight breeze from the life support. “Ferral! Ferral! Ferraaaal!” Etcher screamed. His eMate was nowhere to be found, probably in the cracks below his feet. His pants were wet. He hit his head hard on the front panel, and he saw blood. In the moment of recognition that he was bleeding, that blood, his blood, was flowing out of him, and that he was trapped in a giant metal tomb, he started sobbing aimlessly. Ferral watched from afar. He put away his eMate and ran back to the door. He crept over the floor boards back to his room and ran into bed. He bundled himself up and starred at the ceiling. The whole house, despite its rustic appeal, was almost entirely sound proof, and George sat there watching TV, oblivious to the crisis that had just ensued. After a while he went to sleep. Etcher lay in the belly of Iron Whisper for 14 more hours, not sleeping once. The crash had twisted his arm and broken it. His voice was hoarse from screaming. Eventually he felt the cockpit move. He turned, now back in the seat, right side up. The light from the opening cockpit blinded him, and he reached out to be enveloped by the arms of his father. The war ended a year later. Etcher was 8 years old, Ferral was 10. They watched on the news all the ships landing full of spacers who had been cooped up in giant colony ships for months in blockades, people flooding out of them onto land and shouting with joy, Aegises lumbering in the background. Shimmering colonies on barren worlds were being rebuilt, freed, like gems covered in dirt. They saw a freighter land and everyone who got off looked like a dolphin, men, women, and children, all dressed in normal clothes, but with gray skin and heads like dolphins. The news reporter was talking about how amazing it was that these colonists put aside their differences and saved this ship of splicers. Etcher had at that moment an incredible yearning to help the dolphin people. He asked his dad if they could stay with them, rent out the basement, to help them. The whole world, the whole galaxy, had been holding it’s breath for the past 10 years, and all at once it exhaled. The boys had no concept of the war but what the TV said, names they didn’t fully understand but began to use, places they would never go to. The one thing they could almost grasp was the Aegises. Nothing ever got too technical, but they could see them in the news front footage being deployed, sometimes waving back at them. Etcher hadn’t worked on HellBob since the night he piloted Iron Whisper. “I don’t really give a shit Chris, you can keep your fucking toys and houses and yachts and… and bullshit, but if you think you can have even one of those boys you’re dead fucking wrong!” Spit issued from Cynthia’s mouth as her head moved in time to her profanity. “I’ve done more for them then you ever could! You were the one that said they ruined your life, kept you out of politics, kept you out of fucking parties, I was the one who actually wanted ''them, raised them, gave them-” “The fucking farm house?! Your fantasy bullshit on some abandoned rock, instead of in the real world? What the fuck are they going to learn?” Etcher and Ferral were fast asleep in their room upstairs while their parents waged war below. The sound proofing on the house was enough to let them sleep, not that that would have deterred Cynthia and Chris anyway. Three months later and the divorce papers would be filed, one month after that Cynthia would join the war on the colonist’s side, making headway with genesplicing, an ex-lobbyist turned soldier and hero to the people. Chris, or rather MAXTech, would continue to supply the Terrans with Aegises and weapons. Etcher would watch TV four years later and wish to save the dolphin people. Ferral would become something much different. “Take this” The doctor handed him a cup of swirly, slightly transparent silvery liquid without looking up from his chart. He drank it down. It tasted like what you would imagine an iPod tasting like if you could bite into it like a chocolate bar. It stuck in his throat briefly. “Nano peptide, standard stuff, just to make sure you don’t have anything in there we wouldn’t want” The doctor smiled. “You’re free to go”. Etcher put his clothes back on. He was 28, his chin covered in wiry brown hair, his hair back in a pony tail. He had a simple yellow jacket with stripes on it, his newly issued light blue uniform, and his ever present laptop bag. His glasses were sleek and topped his face. He went back out to the waiting room and opened his laptop, checked all the mundane things he could while glancing up at the women in the waiting room. There was one blond in particular. The uniform obscured her breasts but he could make out the lines and delicious shadows on her chest. She was sitting alone with an independent air about her, reading one of the RAEVEN magazines that were all over the waiting room. He closed the laptop and sat up. “This seat taken?” He said sidling up to her. “No” She said and looked at him briefly. He sat down. “Hell of a welcome, waiting rooms and a physical, then more waiting rooms” “Yeah” She said. “I’ve gotten used to it I guess”. “Yeah? You like a vet or something?” “Infantry, this is my third tour, well, they don’t call ‘em tours but what else are they?” They wouldn’t be in the same department it seemed, that was actually probably a good thing, but he’d half to act in the next 15 minutes. “Jesus that’s rough, I’m Tech. This is my… fifth contract I guess, but I’ve been on and off.” She put the magazine on her lap and looked him up and down briefly and smiled. “I could tell” He laughed, “I guess I’m not really infantry looking material am I?” She extended a hand awkwardly around the metal armrest. “Mara Bentham”. “Etcher Marlowe, nice to meet you Mara”. “Marlowe? Like,” He tried to imagine her breasts, but it was hard. He didn’t have any frame of reference, although he thought he had the shape and size down pretty well. “Yeah, that Marlowe. He’s my dad” She looked at him with wide eyes. “Holy shit, what the fuck are you doing here? I mean, oh God I’m sorry it’s just, ''RAEVEN can’t pay as well as-” “No I understand, I’m not really sure why I didn’t take over the company either” “Why’d you join a PMC, why RAEVEN?” “I’m not here for money just… well, I guess…” He saw the dolphin people getting off of the ships again, and him somehow helping them from a million miles away at his console. “Just something to do I guess. I’m pretty out of harm’s way here anyway. I mean, not to say that you are, I mean you guys are probably safer than we are with the suits, and I know you do good work out there” She looked him in the eyes. “It’s ok, I know what you were trying to say”. She maintained eye contact and put her hand on his armrest. Two questions later and she was in the bathroom with her legs hiked up around his waist. His glasses steamed and she took them off. He unzipped her uniform and started unbuckling her bra. Most women opted for the jumpsuit with pants but not her, she had the skirt. Clever girl. The intercom rang out and echoed in the tile of the bathroom “Marlowe, Etcher. Report to processing” She exhaled and he felt her warm mango flavored breath wash over him. Her chest receded from his with her heavy sigh. Son of a bitch. Keeping the cigarette lit in the wind like this wasn’t easy. The snow whipped up around him and clung to one side of his body, almost like his clothes were half white on purpose. His hair was stuck at obscene angles from the wind, more obscene than usual. He peaked a small hill and the base came into view. It was a small squat little gray thing, and he imagined wiping off the ground. That wouldn’t have been prudent. The blizzard obscured his vision but he could see the guard post up ahead. Two very lonely men stood there cloaked in arctic gear. They wondered why they had to be the ones to be posted the day after the attack on 12 hour shifts. He would grant them their wish. “Registration” The first man said. “Jesus, did he walk all the way out here?” the second asked. “I am the Instrument”. He said. “What?” said the first man. He waved his hand and he had an aneurism. Blood boiled in his head under his temporal lobe and his heart seized. He collapsed on the snow without sound. The second man pulled his rifle from his sling and he was gone with a flurry of snow. Ferral parted the gate and walked onward. The alarm rang muffled by the blizzard. He stepped over one of the dead rebels frozen solid in the snow, a crumpled Aegis next to it half buried in white. He would succeed where they failed, the thing awaiting transfer would not reach its destination. Two, three, four aegises were expelled from the hanger. They rumbled slowly toward him. He heard the first dull shots ring out from their rifles and the glowing bullets thud the ground around him. They closed in further. He held out his hand and the first one’s engine lost its coupling and violently thrashed inside its chest. Its course altered dramatically and it exploded. Missiles rained down on him. Now he faced them and held out both arms. They detonated 5 feet away from him and he was accosted by the burning air from the fire. The snow on his clothes was now gone and his cigarette mostly turned to ash. He leapt into the air and came down on the head of one of them. He turned it with a gesture and the servo motors within its arm all relinquished control over to him, and it fired its rifle into the third and fourth. The third went down in flames, the fourth fell over. He leapt off and the giant detonated, and he strolled toward the fourth. Its cockpit opened up and the pilot stumbled out, bleeding from his head. He threw his helmet off and looked around. Terror griped his face as he saw Ferral stride toward him. He scrambled for his side arm. “See” He said, and the man combusted in a sudden violent conflagration. The earth was charred where the snow had burned away. Ferral pulled another cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. Snow began to collect on his clothes again and he moved toward the facility unimpeded. The alarm clock pierced the thick veil of dreams and alcohol that had settled over him over the course of the night. He turned over and flopped his hand on the top of it, silencing it. His hair was draped across his pillow at odd angles. The hangover split his head. He grabbed his arm on the table and popped it into its socket. The initial twinge of numbness subsided and he flexed his fingers, did the usual routine of checking all the joints and motors. Pinky and thumb were the last to warm up but they got there. Maybe he should get that looked at. He rolled out of bed and sat up. A bottle of Captain Morgan’s touched his foot. He stood and grabbed his shirt from yesterday, a worn light pink from age with cracked white letters that read “VAGITARIAN”. Cash was in the pilot’s chair as always. He’d gotten drunk too but not nearly as much. Smoke trailed up from his cigar, illuminated by the screens he was surrounded by. “Afternoon, Guile” He didn’t turn around, Cash rarely did. Guile looked at his watch. “Goddamnit, it’s 1 already. Why didn’t you wake me?” “Tried. You were out of it”. Guile sighed and walked down the hall to the cabinet and grabbed a chaser. He popped it into his mouth and chewed. The foam slid down his throat and he pursued it with a glass of rum. He felt better already. “You got a call an hour ago” Cash said, still from his chair. Guile looked at him. “From who?” “It’s in the conference room”. “Conference…” It dawned on him that he meant the former bachelor party roomed. He walked down the hall further and opened the door. Beer cans and bottles littered the whole room. He brushed some off of the main console and sat down. It lit up with a large red ‘3’. Etcher had left him a message, nothing descript but urgent. He flicked the return call button. It rang once and Etcher picked up. He saw his face there, hidden with sunglasses. “Guile! I haven’t seen you in…are you wearing a shirt that says ‘Vagitarian’?” Guile looked at his chest. “Oh yeah, this old thing. Birthday present, you know. How the hell’ve you been Etch-a-Sketch? I haven’t seen you in years”. Etcher clutched the phone close to him and looked around nervously. “Ah, I’ve been better, I’m on Kamon 7 right now, some backwater station in the middle of nowhere” “How the hell did you get there?” “One of the new T70s is here and I’m picking it up. Well, actually that’s why I called. I need a favor, I can pay you of course”. “That’s not much of a favor then but alright, money’s good, whadaya need? Don’t tell me you want me to transport the fucking thing”. “First I need to get to get off this piece of shit station, get to Geneon, and I need to do it quietly…But yes, I do need you to pick up the T70.” “You mean steal?” Guile’s eyebrow raised, and a smirk warped his handlebar moustache. “Smuggle actually, I mean it’s ''paid ''for technically, but it isn’t exactly legal to have, let alone transport. I don’t want the press or any of the stock holders to know it was purchased by me, so this whole thing is totally under the radar ok?” Guile smiled wider. “Fuck you Etcher, you should have said that in the first place. I’m glad I’m the first one you called”. “Uh yeah, wouldn’t have it any other way Guile. It’ll be good to see you again, crew still holding up?” “We lost Bradley a few months ago but he’s been replaced” “Aw shit I liked Bradley. What happened?” “He tried to jettison Garland from the cargo hold”. “…Oh. Fuck me. Um, anyway listen Guile, when can I expect you?” Guile flicked the holograms in front of him a little more and Cash’s face came up on screen next to Etcher’s. “We’ll be there in about 6 hours” Said Cash. Etcher squeezed his bags through the airlock and stopped on the other side, turning around. He put one of his bags down and adjusted his glasses, and held out his hand. Guile’s metal hand met his and they smiled. “Really too bad you can’t stay Guile, I could use the help setting up”. “Bullshit, you just want to see me more.” He smiled. “Yeah well…that and that new crew member you got, what was her name again?” “Jade, but first off, I got dibs, and more importantly, I don’t think she’s the type to sleep with either of us, unfortunate as that is for her”. “You said the same thing about what’s-her-name” Guile laughed. “I’d love to shoot the shit with you sometime Etcher but I do have other jobs, and I have to keep this thing floating” He patted the side of the ship, it rung briefly from his metal hand. “Well I guess that just means I have to call you more then eh? I’ll see you around. The transfer should go through by the morning, if you ever need any help-” Guile’s expression changed slightly. “Thanks, but no handouts. I’ve told you that already” “Alright alright, tell everyone I send my best will you?” Etcher stepped down the ramp onto the dull red soil that spread all the way to the horizon. “Good luck Etcher”, Guile waved and the airlock closed. The Blue Fire shuddered and lifted off into the dusty orange sky, its thrusters flew back and it was gone with a sudden thunder. Etcher turned around and faced his new house on Geneon, a half buried old aegis facility that was now converted into a workshop and apartment. The planetoid was almost hospitable, but the air was thin out here and there was dust. All his stuff was inside, and he walked up to the door. His footsteps echoed in the large areas, and he appreciated the silence of knowing it was only him on this whole rock. The sheer scale of it was off putting though, to say the least. The computer systems hummed, life support buzzing. He opened the fridge and put his bottle of brandy that he’d gotten from Guile as a housewarming gift and exchanged it for a beer. He threw his bags on the bed and took his jacket off, the inside now pleasantly warm. He walked to the workshop and the lights flicked on with his entrance. Aegis pieces were laid out before him, some in boxes, some with large metal skeletons around them, some with the dust of age clinging to them. It looked like there should be a Christmas tree in the center. He took out a piece of paper and a pen, and scribbled “Iron Whisper MK II”, then walked towards the pile of boxes and parts and fixed the sticky side on a large aegis chest piece. He turned around and leaned on his work bench, taking in the whole scene and sipping on his beer. “I have all the time in the world. I can do this” Etcher sipped his beer and contemplated getting in an aegis again. This time it didn’t seem so impossible.